
VERSES 

BY 

JOHN FRANKLYN PHILLIPS 




Class rS * 5 3 I 
Book ,t\S3\H 
Copyright^ l9 ^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



VERSES 

1905-1908 



BY 



JOHN FRANKLYN PHILLIPS 



NEW YORK 
1909 






ris 



Copyright, 1909 

By JOHN FRANKLYN PHILLIPS 



LIBRARY cf CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

JUN (6 1803 






nvw*9 



A XXc N9. 



THE VOICE FEMININE. 

Come out of your study, dear, 
See, the lights are all aglow; 

Leave your books for warmer cheer; 
Take me in your arms — just so. 



Plato dreamed in ages past; 

Socrates — he died of drink; 
Homer — he went blind at last; 

Sappho — she jumped off a brink. 

Shakespeare wore a horrid beard; 

Dante thought he loved at sight; 
Edgar Allan was so weird; 

Schopenhauer was not polite. 

Hubbard never cuts his hair; 

Shaw still wears a flannel shirt; 
Mark Twain drives one to despair; 

Nietzsche never learned to flirt. 



Come out of your study, dear, 
See, the lights are all aglow; 

Leave your books for warmer cheer; 
Take me in your arms — just so. 




REFLECTIONS. 
I. 

O, fair Melpomene, thou Muse of Song, 

Evoked to grace the ancient tales of yore — 
O, tragic Muse of the Immortal Throng, 

May I, a modern, dare to thee implore 
For aid to tune my lyre ne'er heard before? 

Within the boundary of thy limpid stream, 
List to an unpoetic call once more, 

And deign to leave thy springs and dells 
of green 

To deck mine humble lay — Melpomene, 
fair Queen. 

II. 

So now, fair maid, since I've evoked the Muse 
Who once incited bards of this clay world, 

I offer thee this lowly lay. Refuse 

It not, dear Friend, but grant to one who's 
toiled 

For simple Peace, which Fate hath ever foiled, 
The passing tribute of a maiden's cheer, 



And judge not harshly of my rhyme, uncoiled 
From candid, feeble pen, for thine own 

ear — 
An effort to be understood in words sincere. 

III. 

At first I thought I'd only write of thee, 
And liken thee unto the daffodil, 

Or primrose courted by the moth when he 
Doth scent its fragrance from the sun-kissed 
hill 

And violet, found by the gurgling rill, 
Or scintillating moon upon the snow, 

And Heaven's midnight gems, that shine until 
Apollo wakes from slumber and doth throw 
His golden light on earth and sea and men 
below. 

IV. 

But no! for thou art grander far than all 

The similes that I could e'er invent, 
So for the want of eloquence I'll call 

6 



Thee Child of God, and God hereby is 
meant 
The Universe, the Infinite, All, blent 

Into a mighty Oneness. Thy consent 
To ramble through my desultory flights 

Of thought I beg of thee, for mine intent 
Is to speak of mankind and of its plights 
That range from cradle to the grave by days 
and nights. 

V. 

And thee, to whom I tell my cheerless tale, 

Too dreary far for those bright eyes of thine. 
Is not from books that tell of sorrow's wail, 

But observation, reason, and short time 
Spent on this globe. These doleful views of 
mine, 
Were forged into a burning flame, and now, 
To thee, bright, joyful, as a sunny clime, 
I narrate softly what I feel, for thou 
Wilt understand, nor cry, "Misanthropist, 
enow." 

7 



VI. 

Misanthropist — and what doth that word 
mean? 
Why, one who loved his fellows with love 
plus, 
And they did not reciprocate; then keen 

He felt embittered faith, and O vain Trust! 
Society said, "Come, be one of us, 

No better nor no worse, or thou must leave." 
That, Theo, just defines the word; and thus 
Affection oft takes wing to lonely grieve 
And faith that's felt too deeply never can 
retrieve. 

VII. 

Go on, O Time ! as thou hast ever gone, 

And bring some woe, some bliss unto man- 
kind: 
The optimist is bright, but men forlorn 

Are falling daily and are left behind. 
For time, to them, brings naught to soothe the 
mind 

8 



Full to o'erflowing with despair, and when 

They waft their prayers upon the rushing wind, 

Their woes with tenfold force return to them, 

And hoary heads, raised up in prayer are 

bowed again. 

VIII. 

Who is at fault? a God, or man, or who, 
That dooms the wretched to their lives of 
grief? 
'Tis man, the Theist says, and mayhap true, 

'Tis God, the cynic Pantheist's belief. 
No matter who, there is an awful reef 

On which the lives of men too oft are 
wrecked ; 
Each day we hear their groans and gnashing 
teeth — 
Garlands of Peace doth ne'er the soul 

bedeck 
Of wearied son of man, thou lowly, finite 
speck. 



IX. 

The cause I do not seek, the fact I state : 
That Mis'ry finds each mind upon this 
sphere ; 

A death, or loss of gold, or love, then hate 
Or woe, or grief, or all bring forth the tear, 

That fain would blur past memory, so dear, 
But still we live and lingering-in-pain, 

We dream of joys in thought that are so near — 
Reality, we dread to wake again 
To march the path of grief and rest in sor- 
row's lane. 



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10 



BROADWAY. 

I have wandered amid the snow-covered lanes 
On mountains gigantic, and lowlands and 

plains ; 
I have cruised o'er the sea, been refreshed by 

its spray, — 
Still my heart ever longs for the Lights of 

Broadway. 

I have tarried among the plain simple folks, 
Whom the poet with Truth and Honesty 

yokes ; 
I have lived on a farm, I have smelt new-mown 

hay, — 
Still my heart ever yearns for the Lights of 

Broadway. 

I've dwelt among Nature's most beautiful 
scenes ; 

I have viewed Alpine heights and rocky ra- 
vines ; 

I have visited London and Paris so gay, — 

Yet my heart still is loyal to dear old Broad- 
way. 

ii 



Thro' the East I have traveled, thro' Greece 

and thro' Rome; 
I've seen all their splendor and wished I were 

home; 
Where the whip of the cabby cracks all night 

and day, — 
Where the trolley cars clang along white-lit 

Broadway. 

I have read rustic lyrics composed by Words- 
worth, 

How the glad gentle Spring to fair flowers 
gives birth, 

And of pure rural morals told of by Tom 
Gray, — 

Yet my heart ever beats for resplendent 
Broadway. 

As the wild waves are calling the sailor ashore ; 
As the bugle blast summons the hero to war; 
As the power of Venus lured Helen away, — 
So my soul is drawn on by The Call of Broad- 
way. 



Then sing me a song of Manhattan Isle, 
Where the Lights are shining brightly; 

Where diamonds flash and fair women smile, 
As the champagne corks pop nightly. 

Where Life ebbs and flows as a surging main 
And the crowds are happy and gay — 

Where Jollity drowns all sorrow and pain, 
Along dear, old, darling Broadway. 




13 



TO E . 

(A Fragment.) 

The sun is sinking slowly in the west, 

The moon will shortly shed its silv'ry light, 

Regret is slowly smolcTring in my breast, 
While all is still upon an Autumn night. 

My mem'ry summons forth those scenes again 
Where first we met and dwelt in rustic joy; 

Those sun-lit days of happiness! 'twas then 
I thought this world a playground — you a 
toy. 

But ere that surging main by which we played 
Had eight and twenty times reversed its tide, 

A Fullness swelled my breast — though not 
displayed — 
I claimed you as my free and natural bride. 

And after burning passion had consumed 
Our youthful frames with all its lustful force, 

14 



And you refused to leave me, e'en when 
doomed 
To feel the pangs of hunger and remorse : 

'Twas then that I first loved you, and my love 
Was not a thing apart — 'twas vital food 

On which I daily fed and long drank of — 
Our love, so hot and passionate, true and 
lude. 

For you did love me with a passion grand 
As ever heaved a woman's swelling breast; 

Your very soul you gave unto me and 

Ne'er falted when fell fate decreed love's 
test. 

And when from those fair Summer scenes we 
went 
To mingle with the city's wine-drunk 
throng ; 
Mad — dashing — costly were the weeks we 
spent 
In orgies wild and revelries days long. 



Ah, how we loved in those poetic days! 

Poetic if poetic means insane; 
With passion's pumping pulses all ablaze — 

New York our dell, our babbling brook 
champagne. 

Then crazed with triumphs — 




16 



BEAUTY. 

Beauty, Beauty, Beauty, 
My whole soul yearns for thee. 
I long to idle by a stream 
Where many colored lights do gleam 
From opal skies and moon's pale beam — 
And birds make symphony. 

Beauty, Beauty, Beauty, 

O take me far away ! 
I fain would sleep in tresseled bowers 
Where perfume from sweet-scented flowers 
Entrance the senses thro' the hours 

Which prelude break of day. 

Beauty, Beauty, Beauty, 

My spirit longs to float 
On waves of iridiscent strains; 
Thro' cloud-like tones that form in chains 
Of soft dream sounds o'er marble mains, 

That echo note for note. 
17 



Beauty, Beauty, Beauty, 
My mem'ry longs to dwell 
On words that mirror to the mind 
The art of delicacy twined . 
About the subtle thoughts behind 
Sweet poesy's gentle spell. 



c$H£> 



18 



THE PRICE OF FREEDOM. 

I. 

I thank you, thank you, financier: 
Trust me to serve the mighty state ; 

Trust me to prove by my career, 
Trust me to quickly demonstrate 

That whatsoe'er you may decree, 

I shall enforce most willingly. 

ii. 

I've sold myself — but what care I? 

At least, I never more shall see 
My children pine and slowly die, 

Nor look at me reproachfully, 
Because for days they went unfed, 
While I, in vain, sought to earn bread. 

HI. 

I've sold myself — but what care I? 
No more shall I be dragged to gaol, 

19 



In pens of filth and slime to lie, 

Where fear and grief and woe prevail, — - 
Because I dreamt man could be free, 
And told my dream unguardedly. 

IV. 

I've sold myself, and I have gold, 

And gold will buy me meat and wine, 

And fill my life with joys untold, 

And rank and fame shall both be mine. 

Lift high the glass and drink with me: 

Long live our good plutocracy! 

V. 

But hark! That noise! That shout! That 
roar! 

What means that cry the people raise? 
"To arms! To arms! To war! To war!" 

Who dares to sing the Marseillaise? 
What's that? "The workingmen rebel 
Against all thieves who buy and sell?" 

20 



VI. 

**A revolution is begun?" 

You lie! Look! Look! the mob gives 
way — 
Great Christ ! There lies my only son — 

Hear, despots, hear me when I say, 
My son is killed, but not in vain, 
I fight in Freedom's Cause again. 

VII. 

Take back, you fiendish ghouls of toil, 
Take back your slave-created pelf; 

From loathsome serfdom I recoil, 
IVIy will, at last, asserts itself. 

Let come what may — I scorn your gold, — 

Death ten times o'er ere life is sold. 




21 



WHAT THE KATY-DIDS SAID 
TO ME. 

Now the Summer fast is fading, 
And there's music in the air, 

For the Katy-dids are singing 
Of a flower "who" is fair. 

They are singing of a "Lily" 
Who, they say, is fair to see ; 

And I asked was she attractive, 
And they said, "Bewitchingly." 

Then I asked if she was graceful, 
This fair and beauteous belle; 

They replied, "She'd deck a banquet 
As a fawn would deck a dell." 

I inquired of what color 

Are, and has she pretty eyes? 

"Oh, a liquid brown of deepest hue, 
That outshine ih^ starry skies." 

22 



"Have you ever seen a diamond?'* 
Asked the Katy-dids of me ; 

"Well, there never was a jewel 
As resplendent as her e*e.'* 

"O, she is a flower damsel," 

Chirped the Katy-dids in tune — 

"And her charms are like rare flowers 
In the gentle month of June.'* 

Then the Katy-dids ceased chirping, 
And I dreamed that I had gone 

To a land of fragrant blossoms, 
Where I wandered *till the dawn. 




^3 



TO LILLIAN. 

Child of Beauty, Child of Joy, 
Come and soothe a wearied boy- 
One who is from passion free, 
One who seeks tranquillity. 

By thy tresses, chestnut brown; 
By all gods of great renown; 
By the moon and stars above; 
All this boy doth seek is love. 

He's been cuffed by hostile fate — 
Ruled by passion, torn by hate; 
Knows the world to be a fraud, 
Worships neither man nor God. 

Child of Beauty, Child of Joy, 
Come and soothe a wearied boy — 
One who is from passion free, 
One who seeks tranquillity. 

24 



TO BEATRICE. 

Incarnate pledge in pink and white, 
Of love and joy and life's delight: 
Believe, a father knows thy worth, 
And from the hour that gave thee birth 
Will watch with ceaseless care o'er thee, 
And ever guard thy liberty. 

And when thy silv'ry accents flow, 
And verbal language thou first know — 
Oh, never, never shalt thou hear! 
One single word to make thee fear, 
Nor break thy will at my decree; 
A father guards thy liberty. 

For this, my daughter, thou wilt learn: 
Thy sire asks for no return; 
For all that he can do for you 
Is but thy father's daughter's due. 
Thy soul and thy futurity, 
He dedicates to liberty. 
25 



To live thy life in thine own way, 
Regardless of what others say, 
To be foremost an Egoist: 
That is thy parent's dearest wist; 
An heir of laughing anarchy, 
A child of freest liberty. 

Incarnate pledge in pink and white, 
Of love and joy and life's delight ; 
My baby, destined to express 
Anew thy mother's loveliness, — 
Our home will be a trinity 
Of individual liberty. 




TO PEARL. 

So now at last we have our baby, Pearl, 
Our pledge of love in rosy pink and white, 

A perfect, fragile, little baby girl, 
A gift of life's creation to delight 
The eyes of all who have for beauty sight, 

At least the eyes of those who gave her birth; 
And may we make her childhood sweet and 
bright, 

So naught but joy she will know on this earth, 

And hold the life we gave her not of little 
worth. 



And thou, dear Pearl, my own sweet daughter's 
mother, 
How dear thou art to me, my Lovely One! 
For since into our lives there came another, 
Aye, since the will of Nature we have done : 
There never lived beneath Latona's son, 
A man who deemed himself more blessed by 
fate 

27 



In finding what his heart was set upon 
Than I : for, just a year ago from date, 
Thou didst consent thy life with mine to cop- 
ulate. 



JUN 16 1909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 937 552 3 • 



